


The Charitable Way

by readfah_cwen



Category: Glee
Genre: M/M, Seblaine Week 2014
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-08
Updated: 2014-07-08
Packaged: 2018-02-08 00:09:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,103
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1919340
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/readfah_cwen/pseuds/readfah_cwen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Blaine Anderson is volunteered for a wet t-shirt contest, because that's the sort of thing that happened at college. At least there was the bonus of Sebastian Smythe, possessor of a talented tongue and a weird best friend.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Charitable Way

**Author's Note:**

> For [Seblaine Week 2014](http://seblaineweek2014.tumblr.com/post/88869315252/seblaine-week-days) Day 2: Wet T-Shirt Contest.

“Watch it!”

Blaine stared up at the waiter who had just dropped half a glass of water on his white shirt, eyes wide with disbelief, then glanced down. A minute ago, his nipples had been warm and cosy. Now they were cold and wet and highly visible against the clinging fabric, and Blaine could see where he’d slacked on his grooming a little and needed a wax, and _ah shit_ the water was trickling down his waistband. All he could be thankful for was that he was dressed casually for a pool party, and a silk bowtie hadn’t paid the price.

“It’s okay,” Blaine lied through his teeth, looking up at the waiter again. “Customer service can be exhausting …” Then he frowned, because an intent, intrigued stare was on the guy’s face, and that was not the waiter uniform of English Cellar Alehouse. “Wait --.”

“My friend here bumped me.” The guy, who was objectively handsome to people who couldn’t feel ice water trickling down into their underwear, nudged another hot guy who was on his phone behind him. “But I have a proposition for you.”

“Pay for his dry cleaning? You better!” Tina said, jumping to Blaine’s defense though her gaze remained on his chest. Blaine wasn’t a self-conscious kind of guy but this was getting weird, especially when water-spiller’s friend looked up from his phone and did a visible double take, smirking upon seeing Blaine.

“No, my friend and I are planning something, and you could fit right in,” the guy stuck out his hand. His friend’s smirk widened. “Hunter Clarington. My friend is Sebastian Smythe.”

“Blaine Anderson,” Blaine replied cautiously, accepting the hand and shaking it. “But I should tell you, I don’t really go for threesomes with guys I’ve just met …”

“I’m not even remotely bicurious.” Hunter laughed condescendingly, as if he wasn’t still holding onto Blaine’s hand and staring at his navel. Sebastian gave Hunter a sympathetic pat on the back. “No, we’re brothers at Sigma Chi, and we’re having a charity drive this weekend.”

Tina rolled her eyes. She had little time for frats. _Where patriarchy breeds_ , she said.

“Maybe you’ve heard of it?” Sebastian stepped in, literally, around Hunter so he could lean against their table and grin (smarmily) down at Blaine. “Nipples for Nightingale?”

Blaine actually had heard of that. It was hard to forget, when the posters were a foot tall and featured nothing but a hard torso with washboard abs and a flimsy soaked-through t-shirt clinging to it. Very artsy. “Yes, I’ve heard of it.” Blaine glanced at Tina, who took a pointed sip of her soda. “How can I help you with that?”

“You could join our torso line-up.” Sebastian’s gaze meandered below Blaine’s chin, and Blaine crossed his arms over his chest. He was fine with his body but he didn’t look like that poster, or even these guys here, that was for sure. There must be a joke in here, somewhere. Sebastian apparently noticed his reluctance. “Seriously, you sell that look.”

“I concur,” Hunter said. “Come by Olney tomorrow night. We’ll get you fitted.”

“I haven’t agreed yet,” Blaine pointed out. All he really wanted at the moment was to go change.

“And he shouldn’t have to agree,” Tina added, reaching across the table to grab Blaine’s arm and elbowing Sebastian in the process. “Blaine’s body is his own. No matter how nice a body it is, or how perfectly wet clothing clings to every firm and supple bit.”

“Thanks, Tina.”

“What are you, his girlfriend?” Sebastian asked, gaze unimpressed as he considered Tina. “You can come to the day, if you want. Girlfriends are allowed to take the boys’ pants off and hose their underwear down.”

“With warm water,” Hunter interjected.

Tina considered this, squeezing Blaine’s forearm, then turned on Blaine with a sincere expression. “You have to do it Blaine. For charity.”

“She’s not my girlfriend,” Blaine said; Sebastian nodded triumphantly and Hunter gazed at him impatiently. “What charity is it, anyways? Nightingales aren’t endangered.”

“Nightingale-Brown,” Hunter explained, cocking his head as if Blaine were particularly stupid. “The centre of Humanities? Despite being a valued historic landmark and important loci of the arts, the government and school are being slow about paying to take care of a mould problem. So we’re raising the extra.”

“It’s no starving orphans,” Sebastian added, “But it’s what we picked from the hat.”

Blaine relaxed his arms, considering this. He had attended Brown for two years now in the Theatre Arts and Performative Studies program, and he had visited Nightingale a few times. It was a lovely building and Blaine wouldn’t want to see it fall apart at the beams. “It’s just a wet t-shirt contest, right? And nobody will take my pants off?” Tina sighed.

“Not unless you want them to,” Sebastian purred.

“Just a wet t-shirt contest,” Hunter said. “Lots of bored, rich girls, throwing money into buckets. And whoever makes the most money gets a thank-you gift from Sigma Chi.”

“Well …” Blaine hesitated, then shrugged. “Sure, for the sake of Nightingale, I’ll do it.”

“Excellent.” Hunter nodded briskly. “Tomorrow. Olney. Eighteen hundred hours.”

Then he just left, marching for the exit, setting the glass aside on an empty table. Blaine stared -- why had he been carrying that around, if he wasn’t going to stay in the restaurant, if he wasn’t even a waiter …? Sebastian, who had lingered behind, handed his phone to Blaine with a grin. “Here, give me your number. And sorry about that. Hunter has a poster of Machiavelli on his wall.”

“So he deliberately soaked me,” Blaine accepted the phone, then stared at it. The background was doing a very fair imitation of someone’s Grindr profile image. Sebastian nodded smugly, and Blaine hastily brought up the contact screen to add himself.

“Typical fratboys,” Tina huffed. “You shouldn’t get mixed up with them, Blaine.”

“It’s for charity, Tina,” Blaine said, handing Sebastian’s phone back. He summoned to mind abs, not Sebastian’s in his phone’s background, but the one on the poster. The text had said -- “Sunday, right? The actual event?”

“Just as the good lord asked for.” Sebastian tucked his phone away then gave a final sweep of his eyes over Blaine. Blaine began to feel distinctly warm around the collar, contrasted against the cool dampness of his shirt. “See you then, tiger.”

He followed his friend out. Blaine turned to Tina, who shook her head. “You’re going to regret this.”

She was probably right, but Blaine wouldn’t admit that. Instead, he smiled towards the actual waiter, who came over with a puzzled smile at the sight of Blaine’s wet shirt. “Come on,” Blaine replied. “We should go, if we want to get there in time and give me time to dry off. One cheque, I’ll pay,” he told the waiter.

“Gonna regret it,” Tina sang softly, giggling when Blaine groaned.

\--

 _Sebastian (8:00):_  Hello Blaine it’s your new best friend Sebastian

 _Sebastian (8:00):_  But I also accept ‘sex god’ as a contact name fyi

 _Blaine (8:10):_  Imagine if I had given you the wrong number.

 _Sebastian (8:11):_  Please, you’ve been fantasizing about me since we met. You were probably taking those ten minutes to imagine everything I can do

 _Blaine (8:12):_  If you’re only promising ten minutes …

 _Blaine (8:12):_  I might have to find a new sex god. :-P

 _Sebastian (8:12):_  I’d have to nominate you. An emoticon has never gotten me so horny

 _Sebastian (8:12):_  And trust me, I can keep it up until you forget your own name

 _Blaine (8:15):_  Big promises are just that. I’d like to see some proof.

 _Sebastian (8:16):_  Get yourself a quiet little corner and call me, and I’ll give you a free sample

 _Blaine (8:16):_  Lol this is why Fox news thinks sexting’s destroying america. I just sprayed beer on someone.

 _Blaine (8:16):_  Oh no Tina’s in trouble. Ttyl. :-)

\--

Blaine showed up at Olney the next night in a polo, bowtie, and capris, feeling far more himself and prepared to handle the oddly off-putting Hunter and the obviously flirty Sebastian. A guy who had to be a freshman answered the door, showing him in and pointing him towards the living room. Blaine, however, paused to admire the guy’s sweatervest. “That’s Brooks Brothers, right?” He glanced up at the guy who blushed, nodding earnestly.

“Sigma Chi members get a fifteen percent discount there,” the guy explained. “I’ve stocked up.”

“I didn’t know that.” Blaine looked around the foyer, sizing it up. “How exactly do you pledge?”

“Blaine!” He turned to find Sebastian leaning casually against a nearby doorway with his hands in his pockets, an inviting smile on his face. Blaine smiled back after he finished his look over; next to him, the guy sighed. Blaine’s mind brought up full-colour replay of the indecent texts they had exchanged last night until Tina needed saving from some obnoxious soccer player. He probably wouldn’t have gone through with that phone call, but the flirting had been fun, and Sebastian was even more handsome than he remembered. “How’s the girl? And you’re early.”

“Tina’s fine, and Hunter’s kind of military, I was worried about being late.” Blaine thanked the guy again, then went to join Sebastian, who showed him into a lounge area. The money poured into one of the country’s oldest frats really showed here, the room comfortable and dominated by a large flat screen. It was muted on an episode of _The Vampire Diaries_.

“Mm, he was raised in military school.” Sebastian and Blaine took a seat on plush leather sofas, Sebastian hastily turning off the TV. “We call him Cadet Kelly behind his back.”

“That was actually a pretty good movie,” Blaine said, brightening. “Hilary Duff has a presence, you know?”

“And it was gayer than _Brokeback Mountain_ ,” Sebastian said. “Let’s thank it for strengthening our numbers with little lesbos.”

Blaine laughed. “Oh my god, right? The sexual tension was unbelievable.”

“Speaking of …” Sebastian leaned forward, green eyes bright as he stared at Blaine. “My room is right upstairs, you know.”

“Umm …” Blaine’s brows furrowed, stomach flipping, and not in an unpleasant way. “No offense, but we just met. And I try to make sure the guys I sleep with aren’t total douches.”

“You think I’m a douche?” Sebastian raised an eyebrow, still grinning. “What makes you think that?”

“Your friend dumped water on me and you tried to pick me up right after,” Blaine said drily. “It’s not the best start.”

“It was for charity,” Sebastian said, laughing. “But, okay, okay, let’s try again.” He held out a hand, and Blaine shook it, heart thumping at the slide of the sensitive palms together and fingers hooking. “Sebastian Smythe. Engineering major. Member of the Jabberwocks and Brown Bears’ lacrosse, and various other sports teams. Also I’m head of many social activities, at the heart of campus life, and I can do about forty five shots in under an hour.”

“Impressive resume.” Blaine relaxed back into the couch cushions. Sebastian smiled, leaning in even more, thighs brushing. “I’m Blaine Anderson. Performing arts and theatre. Member of the Brown Derbies, Bears’ tennis and polo teams, on the S&B management team and performing it. I work at the LGBTQ centre, my roommate is Tina, and unfortunately I’m a total lightweight ”

“Solid, but don’t end your pitch on a negative,” Sebastian grinned, then pointed to himself. “Lots of internship interviews to my name.”

“Internships,” Blaine said, shaking his head. “I’ll stick with auditions. But if you’re in the Jabberwocks, you must sing, right?”

“Mm-hmm.” Sebastian nodded. “Have you ever been to the _Boombox_?” 

That was a karaoke bar that knew Blaine by name. “I love it!”

“We should go sing sometime.” Sebastian’s gaze turned even more inviting, if that was possible, considering the whole time he stared at Blaine it was like he was asking him to come inside and never leave. “I bet you have a gorgeous voice to match that face.”

Blaine blushed, but the atmosphere growing on the couch was harshly stepped on by the arrival of Hunter who sharply announced, “Blaine Anderson is the lead singer of the Derbies and has gotten top marks in all his performance classes. I’d say so.”

“You can’t possibly know that,” Blaine said, staring wide-eyed at Hunter, a look which only grew as there was a meowing followed by the arrival of a fluffy white cat that wound out between Hunter’s ankles. Then, as if it was specially trained just for menacing dramatic flair, it jumped up into Hunter’s arms so he could pet it while advancing on them. Who _was_ this guy?

“A little recon never hurt anyone,” Hunter said, smiling smoothly. “I asked around about you. I like to know everything about anyone who works for me.”

“Hang on, I’m not working for you …” Blaine tried, but Hunter gave him a look from under his brow as he bent to press a kiss to the side of his cat’s face.

“You can’t have gotten top marks with naivety like that, can you?”

“I …” Blaine looked to Sebastian, who was evidently unsympathetic to Blaine’s confusion, judging by the way his shoulders shook silently in laughter. Blaine tried to send a look which clearly said, ‘I don’t sleep with guys who don’t stand up against frat boys and their scary pets.’ Sebastian acquiesced with a smile and a pat to Blaine’s knee, lingering a touch long.

“Hunter, it’s a charitable drive, which means everything is volunteer. If you plan on paying to get us wet, then you might as well call us Pretty Woman and be done with it.” Sebastian’s smile was no less pleasant, but directed at Hunter, it carried far less warmth than it did for Blaine. “Since that might be a little too much _yes homo_ for you, I ask that, in honour of Sigma’s code of justice and friendship, that you shut the fuck up and get this incredibly patient piece of sex on a stick a shirt to wear.”

“Oh Sebastian,” Hunter sighed. “One day, somebody will teach you some discipline.”

“Is this the part where you ask me to call you Daddy?” Sebastian asked, smile widening when Blaine snorted at that.

“Don’t think there isn’t one of those old initiation paddles waiting in the wings just for you,” Hunter said, settling down into an armchair, his cat still cradled in his arms. Blaine was _really_ beginning to doubt the guy’s lack of bicuriosity. “And you were told to bring the shirt.”

“No, pretty sure that was your job.”

“It’s on the whiteboard as _your_ job.”

“Um,” Blaine raised a finger. “I do have my own white t-shirts. You don’t need to provide one.”

“Oh no, these shirts are special order.” Sebastian got up with another squeeze to Blaine’s knee. “Basically, they’re designed for maximum slut factor.”

“The thinnest cotton-lycra blend we could find,” Hunter said. “It looks like you wrapped yourself up in tissue paper.”

“And that’s before it gets wet.” Sebastian winked. “I’ll be right back.” He left the room, in search of the shirt, and Blaine looked to Hunter warily. Hunter stared back, as he worked up a steady purr out of his cat.

“So …” Blaine wasn’t good with silences. “What’s the cat’s name?”

“Mr Puss.” Hunter scratched under its chin. “I believe his backstory to be like _The Aristocats_ , because I found him shivering under a bridge with a broken leg, though I think he’s a purebred. Naturally I field stabilized the injury and brought him home with me. He’s become like a mascot here at Olney.”

Blaine had to admit, Hunter may be a weird dude, but the amount of affection he had for his pet was very sweet. “I didn’t think they let pets in dorms.”

“They don’t.” Hunter shrugged. “But we’ve got old money here. Especially Sebastian. He paid the inspectors and RAs to turn a blind eye.” Abruptly Hunter gave Blaine such a piercing look, Blaine shrank back into the couch cushions. “You know, Mr Puss is gay.”

“He’s gay.” Blaine stared back down at the cat, which was rubbing its face against Hunter’s hand. “How can you tell?”

“Whenever he’s outside, he finds a tom cat to chase.” Hunter squeezed Mr Puss’s paw. “Clearly, he also has no standards, but I support him. Just as I support Sebastian. I’m sure you can tell he’s physically fit, and as I mentioned, he’s rich. He’s also not bad with conversation, showers regularly, and from the sounds that come from his room is capable of very athletic and enjoyable sex. He’s what you’d call, 'a catch'.”

“I -- I’m sorry?” Blaine blinked. “Do you want me to set you up with him?”

“No,” Hunter said, eyebrows snapping together. “I’m straight. He’s my friend.”

“So why …” the pieces clicked together when Blaine remembered the shirt argument, which had conveniently gotten Sebastian out of the room. God, were these two serial killers or something? They worked in creepy tandem. “You’re his wingman.”

“Yes. I’d appreciate you tell him I did a good job of it, too.”

“Okay …” Blaine wasn’t so sure about that, but at least the man tried. They heard footsteps, and a second later Sebastian returned, arm draped in white fabric.

“I brought a few. We have to decide which look works best.” Sebastian held up one. “We have extra-small, for all your ‘dirty little twink’ needs. Then there’s small, for ‘dirty twink: original flavour’ needs.’ Then medium, the ‘Average Joe _oops_ was that a sprinkler’ look. Large, ‘I’m sensitive and billowing and insecure, check my shoulders.’ Extra-large: ‘I killed Cousin Dudley and am on the run in his hand-me-downs.’ What do you think, Clarington?”

“I want to see him as a dirty little twink first,” Hunter said, and crooked a finger at Blaine. “Strip.”

If this ended up the lead-in to the kind of scenarios only found in over-the-top porn, Blaine was going to regret not wearing sexier underwear. But, as a theatre kid who had been undressed on stage and still had a copy of a calendar that featured him half-naked, this was nothing. Blaine easily undid his bowtie and took off his polo, folding them and setting them aside. He did falter when faced with Sebastian’s intent gaze, chin ducking at the hungry little smirk, and focused instead on Mr Puss’s contentedly purring face as he accepted the smallest shirt with a murmur of thanks. Blaine tried it on -- it fit comfortably.

“Next,” Hunter said, and made him try on another, then another. Each time Blaine brushed his fingertips against Sebastian’s while grabbing a new shirt, he felt heat spark and lance along his skin, and rushed to yank the tops over his head so any sign of fluster could be hidden. Sebastian was beside himself, all flirty smiles and dragging gazes and little “that’s hot” dropped along the way. Finally, with Blaine’s cheeks red and his curls starting to rebel a little from constant on-and-off shirt action, Hunter decided that the medium was the best bet.

“You’re very approachable. We’ll play to your strengths.” Mr Puss finally jumped out of his arms and ran off, and Hunter got to his feet, approaching Blaine to stare down at him. “You are going to make me _so_ much money.”

“The charity, Hunt,” Sebastian reminded Hunter, amused. “He’ll make the charity money. Don’t go thinking he’s actually Julia Roberts.”

“Of course.” Hunter nodded. “I’ll see you on Sunday at half past eleven hundred hours. The contest starts at twelve hundred, but we have to prep first.”

Blaine resolutely did not continue to think about gay porn scenarios. He just nodded pleasantly. “See you then.”

“That’s all.” Hunter left then, apparently still one for abrupt exits. And again, Sebastian lingered, watching Blaine.

“Well.” That was all Sebastian said. Blaine didn’t think he needed to hear more.

Blaine locked eyes with him and slowly reached behind him for the collar of his shirt, yanking it over his head and maintaining eye contact until all he could see was the weave of the fabric and the vaguely defined shape of Sebastian beyond that. Then the shirt was gone and Blaine was the most aware he had ever been of Sebastian, his proximity, the way his soft lashes cast down over his eyes as he shot Blaine molten looks, the freckles on his cheekbones, the height to his legs, the breadth of his shoulders. Blaine had never experienced the dry mouth of arousal until that moment, licking his lips then swallowing, knowing Sebastian’s gaze tracked the movement of his throat, before moving back up to his mouth. Sebastian was going to kiss him, and Blaine was going to kiss him back, because he felt like every inch of him was naked and he still wanted to reveal more until he had Sebastian subsumed into every part of him.

Sebastian took a step forward. Blaine did too, letting the shirt slip through his fingers, hitting the floor with a soft _flumph_ that Blaine didn’t mind. They were so close now, Blaine would just have to push up on his toes, pull Sebastian down, then let the push and pull become entirely about their mouths --

That was when there was a jingle and a pounce of white fur, slamming into his ankle as Mr Puss attacked the shirt Blaine had just dropped. Blaine jumped, startled, and accidentally tread upon Sebastian’s foot.

“Fuck!” Sebastian yanked his foot away, stumbling back, and Blaine’s eyes went wide.

“Sorry! The cat -- the shirt -- the shirt!” Blaine bent down, wrestling with Mr Puss and getting a scratch on his wrist as thanks, but finally retrieving the shirt. Holding it up to the light, Blaine saw the distinct runs and loose threads where those claws had done more damage. “Oh no.”

“It’s okay,” Sebastian said, having obviously sussed out the problem. “We’ve got tons of extras. I’ll go get one, you can give that back to the cat.” Sebastian left, limping a little. (Hopefully, that was just playful exaggeration.) Feeling a bit miserable about the utter ruination of his game, Blaine dangled the shirt and waved it until Mr Puss tore it away from him and started to roll around with it on the ground, kicking and biting. Somewhat cheered by adorably kitty antics Blaine redressed, and as he was tugging his bowtie straight Sebastian came back.

“Here you go, killer.” Sebastian smirked as he handed the shirt over, his good humour obviously restored. “You know, that leg action of yours has punch. Were you ever in kickboxing?”

“I’ve done classes.” Blaine accepted the shirt, draping it over his arm. “I really am sorry.”

“It was an accident, seriously, don’t sweat it.” Sebastian nodded towards the doorway. “But since the mood has been properly ruined, why don’t we try and fix that with some terrible campus food?”

“I _am_ hungry,” Blaine admitted, pulling up even with Sebastian. “You don’t have night class or anything?”

“Nope.” Sebastian placed a hand on Blaine’s lower back, not really guiding him, just enjoying the contact. “So let’s say we do more of that ‘getting to know each other’ thing. You seem to be an expert on it."

“Thanks.” Blaine laughed, and informed Sebastian, “By the way, Hunter’s not a very good wingman.”

“I know.” Sebastian shook his head. “He’s no Iceman. But I figure that if he does his ‘homeschooled military freak’ act enough, I’ll just come out looking better by comparison. Not that I don’t already look great, of course.”

“Of course.” Blaine had forgotten how fun flirting could be. “From where I’m standing, you do look pretty good.” Sebastian smiled, slow and honestly sweet, and they left Olney and headed to the nearest eating establishment. The rest of the dinner (date) was fun as well, as they talked over their school experiences, their lives in the Midwest, movies, music, basically everything that caught their interest. Sebastian was a conversationalist, able to take every opening and exhaust it entertainingly, and Blaine was smitten with everything he said. Blaine hadn’t felt so free while just _talking_  in a while, and allowed Sebastian to keep him far later than he should, considering he had morning class the next day. At the end of the night, Sebastian walked Blaine to his bus stop and waited with him until Blaine’s bus came, telling Blaine a truly remarkable story about a stolen pig, a keg, and Hunter greased up in baby oil.

“I’ll see you Sunday,” Blaine told him, as he saw the bus pulling up. His heart sank as he remembered it was Thursday. That seemed too long a wait.

“Or maybe sooner.” Sebastian ducked in, pressing a quick kiss to Blaine’s mouth. It popped like an ember against Blaine’s lips, warming his whole face, his whole body. The casual quality of Sebastian’s physicality was irresistible, and Blaine wanted to kiss him again but the bus was rumbling impatiently. “You’ve got my number. We’ll get coffee.”

“Alright,” Blaine breathed. And with a final look over his shoulder, he got onto the bus, keeping a firm hold on his shirt. Tomorrow: coffee. Tonight: a long, indulgent shower with his iPod blasting, so Tina could be perfectly aware that he wasn’t just getting clean and give him space.

\--

They ended up meeting for coffee a little after lunch, Sebastian waving off Jean Baptiste, the de facto leader of the Jabberwocks. All the a capella groups on campus got together every now and again for some friendly -- or, often, "friendly" -- competition, and though Sebastian must have gotten lost in the crowd (which seemed impossible, since he was tall as) Jean Baptiste had a way of making himself known. Blaine lingered behind an emergency phone until the other man was gone, then went over to join Sebastian.

“Blaine.” Sebastian smiled, pushing off the coffee shop wall. “Hey.”

“Hey.” Blaine’s nose might have crinkled, he smiled so wide. “I saw you talking to Jean Baptiste.”

“Unfortunately.”

“Did you know he used to lead Throat Explosion? The show choir?” Blaine shook his head. “Those guys were wild.”

“He’s still crazy. The only reason I stick around is because it’s a winning team and I like to win.” He grinned at Blaine, eyes honest to god sparkling. “So watch out at the contest.”

Blaine shook his head, amused. Sebastian had no idea what he was doing, getting competitive with Blaine. “How exactly is it organized? What are the rules?”

“Basically you have to be appealing enough to get women over, let them throw cups of water at you, then hope they throw money in your bucket. It’s four hours, and whoever raises the most money wins.” Sebastian ticked these off on his fingers. "As far as being appealing goes, there's no rules. It'll be a bloody free-for-all."

“Okay.” Blaine nodded seriously. “I can do that.”

“I bet.” Sebastian gave him a once over, something he was prone to doing, but evidently he hadn't yet gotten bored of Blaine's everything. Blaine could understand that, because his own gaze found many points of interest on Sebastian to linger on. Basically: every inch of that perfect body. “Wanna go back to mine and practise?”

It was a tempting offer, but Blaine stuck by his guns.

“Coffee,” Blaine said. “Getting to know each other, right?”

“Right.” Sebastian pointed to the coffee shop, not looking put off. “I gotta admit, I am curious about how that story about your brother and George Clooney ended.”

“Oh my god, you have no idea …”

Coffee was just as fun as dinner had been. Sebastian ordered cognac in his coffee and painted vivid pictures of the streets of Paris, expression pleased every time he made Blaine laugh or blush, and listened intently to everything Blaine said. Blaine was bound to be late for class, especially because when they said their goodbyes Sebastian had stepped into his space, a tall and warm presence with breathable cologne. Blaine had been cupping Sebastian's jaw and tugging him down for a kiss before Sebastian could move any further, arching into the hand Sebastian splayed across his lower back, almost certain he could taste the courvoisier on Sebastian's tongue as it curled against his teeth. Blaine lost himself in it for several slow, warm heartbeats, before he was jostled with the reminder that if he was late to class he would have to perform an improv skit. So they made plans for dinner, and Blaine had left.

Dinner was great too, as was the brunch they got on Saturday, and each time was followed by a longer make out session in steadily more private areas. Blaine had never been on four dates with one guy in the space of three days, but he just didn't get  _bored_ of Sebastian, or his voice, or his kisses, or his hands, or his -- well, everything. If Tina hadn't called to remind Blaine of their Saturday yoga class, Blaine might have stayed for sex, but she did so he left with a kiss and a promise to see Sebastian the next day.

It really couldn't come fast enough, if you asked him.

\--

The day of the contest dawned bright and hot. Blaine decided to forgo heavy gel, because having that slime down his face in the rain was never fun; he went with a light styling product instead. Then he struggled to find a pair of pants he wouldn’t mind getting wet -- despite Santana’s claims, less fabric on clamdiggers didn’t make them _cheap_  -- but in the end he grabbed a pair of board shorts Sam had left on his last visit. They were blue and orange and frankly hideous, but they would have to do. He pulled them on, along with the t-shirt, then went to consider himself in the hall mirror. Tina, lounging on the couch with the fan facing her and Wangari Maathai’s _Unbowed_ open in her lap, glanced over and snorted.

“I look …” Blaine waved a hand helplessly.

“Like a straight boy,” Tina finished. Blaine shook his head sadly. “Maybe we could wrap a bowtie around your neck.”

“Then I’d look like an extra on _Magic Mike_.” Blaine shrugged. “It is what it is. Will you come down to watch?”

“Like I’d miss it.” Tina beamed. “I just have to finish this before class on Monday, so I’ll come down when it starts.” She tapped the book.

“Alright.” Blaine said goodbye with a kiss to her cheek, grabbed his keys, and left. By the time he got to campus the day was already hotter, and Blaine sent thanks to global warming because a cool September day was the last thing he wanted while soaking wet. The event was being held out in the central quad by the oak, and there was already a group of white tents with beverage, barbecue, and money stations set up. Blaine wandered over to pick up a handheld ATM device.

“People are allowed to charge credit or debit,” Hunter explained, appearing behind Blaine. He was wearing the ‘dirty twink’ look. “If somebody likes the look of you and heads to the machines, count yourself lucky.”

“Do people really drop that much on this?” Blaine asked, eyebrows up.

“Women are primary consumers. We market to them, we make money.” Hunter got a slightly mad look in his eye. “Lots of money.”

“Hunter is destined for business advertising,” Sebastian said, appearing like a sudden, sexy sun shower. “That, or a drug empire. He hasn’t decided yet.”

“Both are profitable avenues.” Hunter looked between them. “Which applies to you two as well. I have hopes for you two.” Then he marched off, yelling at someone who was filling the buckets of water that stood in a long line nearby.

“Isn’t the saying ‘high hopes’?” Blaine asked.

“Too encouraging, for Hunter.” Sebastian nudged Blaine. “So, buddy. Wanna go make out until it starts?”

“Sure.”

They ended up against the tree, Blaine leaning back on the textured bark while Sebastian kissed him silly. He and Sebastian had kissed a lot, these past few days, and Blaine, who was no slouch in that department  _thank-you-very-much_ , had already learned a dozen new tricks. Sebastian was half French, and it showed -- Blaine hadn’t even realized tongues could move in some of the ways Sebastian moved his. Combined with everything else, the way Sebastian hard body felt against his own, the dirty little compliments he was prone to dropping while they caught their breath, lips hot against Blaine's ear and teeth occasionally catching the lobe because it made Blaine gasp, the spread of his fingers against Blaine’s hips as if he was anchoring himself to Blaine … Blaine was rapidly approaching the shangri-la of making out.

A horn blared. Sebastian groaned against Blaine’s mouth, delivering a final nip to Blaine’s bottom lip before he pulled back. “That’s our starting whistle.”

“Oh.” Blaine’s eyes reopened slowly, before Sebastian’s words registered. Then he grinned widely. “I hope you’re ready to lose, Smythe.”

“Aww,” Sebastian cooed. “Just don’t cry when _you_ lose, Anderson.”

They shared a final fist bump of competitive brotherly spirit -- Blaine took easily to frat lingo -- and then they were rounding the tree to the spread of attractive, built young men in white t-shirts. It was almost intimidating, if you were type to get stage fright. Which, of course, Blaine wasn't. Blaine rubbed his hands together, nodding as he listened to Sebastian point out his various brothers and advising who was the biggest competition, and who Blaine should probably donate a pity dollar to. Brooks Brothers was there, in the XL look. He waved at Blaine, who waved back, until Sebastian’s hand brushed slowly down his back (just skimming his ass) and drew his attention again.

“Tree bark,” Sebastian said, smirking slightly at Blaine’s affectionate head shake. Their bucket stations were far apart, as it went alphabetically, and they said their goodbyes with a final kiss before taking their spots. Blaine looked at his supplies -- a large bucket of water with a ladle, a smaller bucket of water, and a waterproofed box with a slit in the top for the money sitting on a little chair.

Hunter appeared with a megaphone, which squealed on. “Ladies and gay gentleman,” he said, addressing the curiously milling students. A girl was already giving Blaine some serious elevator eyes. “We’ve got the finest boys on campus for you today, a barbecue, and a deserving charity. So in the spirit of giving, go get wet.” A pause, and you could hear Hunter’s smug smile. “Or get them wet, I mean.” A ripple of laughter. “Now please, enjoy the Nipples for Nightingale show.”

Hunter handed off his megaphone, and then went to his place in line, not too far down from Blaine. Another horn sounded, and a line of sorority girls in cute black shorts (way more Blaine’s style than these board shorts, he was almost tempted to perform a swap) and their own white shirts paraded out. Blaine actually recognized the one who came up to him from his program, and they chatted a bit about a vocal exercise they'd been assigned before everyone was in place. Another horn came. She grabbed the smaller water bucket, and with an apologetic smile, dumped it all over him. After that she was gone, the girls off to rally more crowds, and Blaine set to work on looking his most appealing. It involved a lot of slow stretches, his brightest smiles, and bending over to tie his shoes.

Naturally, Blaine was off to a great start -- not that he wanted to brag. A group of girls came up, giggling at the wink Blaine sent them, and he asked them how their days were. Many interested nods later, he had forty dollars tucked into his box, and what he was sure had been some numbers on scrap paper. Over the course of the next hour he had a steady stream of visitors that followed a similar pattern, before Tina appeared, eating one of the grilled chicken kebabs from the barbecue. Blaine's stomach grumbled at the sight of it; looking good was hard work.

“Blaine!” Tina said, pointing the skewer at him. “You need to pick it up.”

“What? I’m doing fine.”

“Fine’s not good enough,” Tina scolded. “I checked out Sebastian on my way over. He's got a flock of girls.”

“I don’t know what else I can do,” Blaine said, a bit sullen. “I’m not built like a lacrosse player.”

“Don’t compare yourself to him,” Tina said, rolling her eyes. “Please, have you seen his legs? No, you haven’t, because they’re barely there.”

“I _like_ his legs.”

“I guess you have to, if you ever want them wrapped around you.” Tina waved that off. “Point is, I was watching you, seeing what you were doing wrong. And you’re taking too much time one-on-one.”

That struck Blaine. He had been talking quite a bit, in between cups of water being splashed at his torso. You really got to know people when barriers broke down like that. “It’s awkward if I don’t, though,” Blaine explained. “What am I supposed to do? Just stand there like a statue?”

“Play to your strengths,” Tina encouraged, stepping aside so a cute brunette could tuck a twenty in Blaine’s box with a _call me_ gesture. Once she was gone, Tina gestured after her. “Everyone wants to date you, so you have to mass-market your charm and sweetness.”

“Which means …”

“Sing!”

“That’s … a good idea.” Blaine blinked. “Thanks, Tina.”

“What would you do without me,” Tina cooed, stepping forward to pinch Blaine’s cheek. “I gotta go to class, but I’ll come back later. See if my plan worked.”

“Aren’t you going to donate?” Blaine asked, nodding to the box. “It’s for charity, you know.”

“You expect me to pay for something I could get for free after a rainstorm?” Tina bit on the end of her skewer, grinning mischievously. Blaine waited, and she added, “Don’t worry, my first stop was the debit machine. You can thank me with breakfast in bed when you win.”

“I will,” Blaine promised, a startled grin appearing on his face when Tina offered him the last of her chicken before leaving. He ate, then put her plan into effect. It was just as effective as Tina had promised it would be. He would catch the eye of a girl and sing a few bars of whatever song came to mind first -- the Beatles were a big draw -- and she would come over, drawing a line of others behind her as Blaine got more into it. Blaine felt a little like the Pied Piper, except the only one getting soaked was him. It wasn’t so bad though, since with the heat of day what it was, each toss of water was a relief. A couple got his face and hair, and Blaine prayed he wasn’t getting too frizzy up there.

Occasionally, he glanced down the line at the other guys. Hunter and Sebastian were doing exceptionally well, along with a guy Blaine had clocked earlier with a body that made Sam’s look limp, and a cute redhead. If Hunter caught Blaine looking, he drew his finger across his neck with a somewhat manic edge to his gaze that suggested he well knew what a slit throat looked like.

It was a fierce competition, to be sure.

Tina kept him company on and off throughout the day, pleased to find that her plan had worked, bringing him things to eat and once dueting with him. She also took a lot of pictures on her phone, promising to send them to _everyone_ , despite Blaine’s laughing protests. Around the final hour, as things were winding down and a cooler of beer had mysteriously appeared, Blaine in the middle of miming boxing moves because it made his arms look great, loud cheers came down the line. The girl and guy he had been engaging were distracted, wandering off to investigate. Blaine frowned. There had been shouts all day, and whistles, and a stereo blasting dance mixes, but this was particularly momentous. To confirm this, Tina reappeared, shaking her head.

“Bad news,” Tina said. “For the final push, guys are taking their pants off. I know I say a lot of frat boys overcompensate, but definitely not the ones stripping.”

“Well.” Blaine grabbed his waistband. There was only one thing to do, because he wasn't leaving here a loser. “You did say play to my strengths, right?” Tina gave him a thumbs up, and Blaine dropped his shorts, kicking them over to her. He was glad he was wearing a nice pair of tight, black briefs, because almost anything else could lead to disaster.

“Sam would be so proud right now,” Tina said, sniffing.

“Oh my god.” A girl with masses of dark hair and short-shorts that showed off dancer's legs came up, eyes bright. “Are you single?”

“Not really. It’s only been a few dates, but I think it’s going somewhere good, you know?” Blaine smiled. “He’s great.”

“Typical,” she sighed, but pulled a fifty from her wallet, and a restaurant card that she quickly scribbled her number on the back on. “If that cute butt ever gets lonely, just look me up. Same to your friend there.” She winked while putting the money away, tugged at the fabric clinging to Blaine’s bicep, gave a slow smile to Tina, and left.

“I like her,” Tina said, and with the light of college experimentation gleaming in her eye, added, “I’m going to catch up with her.”

Tina did just that, and Blaine was alone for the final half hour. He broke out all the last bids he could, including aerobics moves, dumping the remains of the large bucket over his head and shaking out his wet hair, and vaguely promising sexual favours in triple entendres. Blaine grinned as he saw the money pile up, his box so full it was peeking out the opening. It didn’t matter if it was the role for a play, a grade, a sports game, or a wet t-shirt contest: Blaine Anderson was a born winner.

Finally, the horn sounded, and the lingering crowds dispersed, quite a few leaving with a boy in a clinging white t-shirt. Blaine, ready to sit down, find a washroom, and know how much money he had made, brought his box up to the tent to hand in and found Sebastian doing the same.

“Hey, stranger.” Blaine smiled, not hiding the way his gaze stroked over Sebastian’s body. The shirt was like a second skin, each muscle intimately traced by the wet fabric, the whiteness so thin Blaine swore he could count Sebastian’s freckles. He inhaled slowly, mind spinning to accompany this new input, ideas of exactly where Blaine could put his mouth blooming like horny little fireworks. A man hadn't looked this good in a white t-shirt since that one Zac Efron shoot, and the advantage of this one was that Blaine was able to slip his hands under the shirt and feel everything Sebastian had to offer. He felt flush at the idea alone.

“Hey yourself.” Sebastian stepped forward, gaze making a similar journey over Blaine’s body. The flush worsened, and Blaine's next inhalation was a little sharper. “Not that I’m complaining, but you seem to be missing pants.”

Blaine glanced down, startled. Sure enough, there were his bare thighs, droplets of water shining on them. “I guess Tina left with them.”

“God bless Ms Cohen-Chang then,” Sebastian said, dropping his hands on Blaine’s waist, Blaine lifting his chin so they could continue to make eye contact. It was always so electric with Sebastian, because Sebastian seemed able to suggest whole day planners worth of activities in a single glance. Blaine hoped his returning look was even half as full of intent, because _boy_ did he have a lot of it. “There’s so much less in my way.”

“But I still have my work cut out for me.” Blaine reached out to run his hands down Sebastian’s sides, feeling the wet drag of the fabric, before tucking his fingers into Sebastian's waistband and feeling hot skin. Sebastian shivered, the movement trembling on Blaine's fingertips, and he wished he could slip them deeper into Sebastian's pants to really give him something to react to. “We should get started soon.”

“So we’ve gotten to know each other?” Sebastian asked, leaning back a little but keeping his firm hold on Blaine. “I don’t want to skip a step.”

Blaine pulled himself up onto his toes, kissing Sebastian squarely on the mouth, smiling into the eager response he got. Once he settled back onto his heels, a bit breathless and ready to get back to the kissing, he said, “Mostly? I’m just _really_ ready to get you naked --” Sebastian nodded in agreement “-- but we’ve also got all the time in the world to get to know each other. We might as well be thorough, while we’re at it.”

“Talented, super hot, _and_ smart.” Sebastian kissed him again, and murmured against Blaine's lips in a way that made his spine turn into liquid heat, “Am I going to discover anything you can’t do?”

“Not tonight, you won’t.” Blaine stepped away from Sebastian, and Sebastian followed, like there was an invisible tether between them.

“I like the sound of that.”

They went to Sebastian's, and the sex was incredible, because Blaine hadn't lied, and Sebastian was more than able to keep up. Sometime in the middle of round two, with Blaine rocking up against Sebastian's sweat-slick body and digging his fingers into Sebastian's broad, freckled back so he wouldn't float off with the pleasure of it, he decided it was basically the best night ever. There was no way in hell he was going to let it be their last.

\--

Hunter called the next morning to confirm that Blaine had won the contest, having raised thousands of dollars for Nightingale-Brown, and gotten about eighty phone numbers in the process (Sebastian _had_ beat him in that regard with a solid ninety). “I knew you were a good investment,” Hunter had said, chuckling to himself before hanging up. Blaine allowed himself time to preen and a celebratory blowjob from Sebastian, absolutely certain he called the name of six different gods when Sebastian had showed him that tongue wasn't restricted to just kissing.

Afterwards, legs feeling like soup and Sebastian off to get them breakfast, he texted Tina to tell her he owed her a breakfast in bed but it would be a few days coming, because right then, he was on indefinite sleepover status with Sebastian. Tina was with her dancer girl and didn't complain, and Blaine's prediction proved true. He even attended his classes two days in a row in his new _boyfriend's_  too-big clothes, utterly shameless about the amazing sex he was getting and his inability to pack an overnight bag. This went on blissfully until Wednesday morning, when Tina called him.

"I'll come home tonight," Blaine said. Sebastian had lacrosse practise early the next morning, and Blaine could only live so long without wearing a bowtie.

“You better. You’ve practically joined the frat,” Tina complained.

“No, but I _am_ enjoying its privileges,” Blaine teased back. A hot mouth attached itself to his neck and he cleared his throat. "Bye Tina." He hastily ended the call, tossing his phone aside and pressing back into Sebastian’s long, warm body and the kisses being pressed to the back of his neck. Sebastian's lips skimmed his birthmark and Blaine hummed, eyes sliding shut.

“I’m a privilege, hmm?” Sebastian's words tickled as they hit his skin, followed by a kiss and a hint of tongue.

“The very best,” Blaine assured him, breath hitching. “Well, that and the Brooks Brothers discount …”

“You can have it all,” Sebastian promised, hand sliding down Blaine’s thigh, then up again, leaving hypersensitive skin in its wake. “And so will I.”

“Lunch after?”

“It’s a date,” Sebastian said warmly, shifting closer. Blaine gasped, blindly reaching out to grab Sebastian's hand and pull it down more, heat flaring as Sebastian gripped him. “Fun as the sex marathon's been, I actually miss just talking. I don’t know what you’ve done to me.”

“Only good things, I hope.”

“With you, it’s always good.” Sebastian sucked a kiss against Blaine’s shoulder, then suddenly laughed. “You know what this means?”

“What?”

“Hunter isn’t actually the worst wingman ever.”

Blaine vowed to never tell Hunter that, but he couldn’t argue. After all, it was thanks to Hunter that he’d met Sebastian, and that? That was worth all the wet t-shirts in the world.

**end.**

**Author's Note:**

> [tumblr link](http://boldmistakes.tumblr.com/post/91145855391/the-charitable-way-seblaine-1-1)


End file.
